


Accelerando

by xPhoenixFlamex



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, a look at the nature of a speedster, i guess?, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 04:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15135290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xPhoenixFlamex/pseuds/xPhoenixFlamex
Summary: [gradual increase in tempo; musical term]a look into the mind of a speedster while they run





	Accelerando

**Author's Note:**

> Pure vent fic. No spoilers for anything - can take place at any point during the series. I guess it's only implied that it's Barry. It could technically be any male speedster.

_Faster_.

The wind burns in his face, sharper than any cut. He can feel it ripping into his skin, tearing away the top layer. It grows back, of course, with the swiftness of the speed that races through his veins. It grows back, but it is torn away again. Over and over and over again. It’s a repeating cycle that has started and finished within the same moment, and restarts immediately after.

_Faster._

His heart is beating too fast in his chest. It’s going faster than any normal machine could detect. It’s beating at literal miles per hour as _it_ races its own race. The blood is pumping through his system reaching every corner, every bit of his body. His heart is beating at what is normal for the speeds he’s going at but his mind still yells at him that it’s _fast, too fast, slow it down._

_Faster._

The electricity hurts. It hurts and it’s painful and bad but also good and exhilarating. It races through his veins, through his _body,_ urging him on. It pushes him too far but also guides him to safety. It leads him but also trails behind him. It’s everywhere and everything. It _consumes_ him until he’s not sure how much of him is _him_ and how much of him is _lightning._

_Faster._

His brain moves quick in its own right. The sensory input is too much, too overwhelming. He can see-hear-touch-taste-smell and process that information so fast. Nothing changes; he does it faster than anything can change. It’s _boring_ but also _overwhelming._ It’s like going hundreds of miles per hour and standing still for hundreds of hours at the same time. It’s _too much,_ but at the same time it’s too little.

_Faster._

Time moves slow. It goes by sluggishly. It’s like comparing the movement of a bacteria to that of an airplane. They count things in minutes in ours. He counts everything in milliseconds and seconds. He watches the movements of mouths as they seemingly struggle to form words in a timely manner. He observes how slow people blink, or how long it takes for them to breathe. Time moves so slow and everyone is so slow and _I’m so lonely why is everyone going so slow why can’t they just go faster?_

_Faster._

His body is speeding through the air, but it’s also trembling, _quaking._ His limbs are moving fast, but so are his organ systems, his organs, his tissues, his _cells._ Everything’s _moving_ everything’s _shaking_ everything’s going _so fast I should stop I need to stop I-_

_Faster._

His temperature is high. It’s _burning._ Friction burns and cuts and rubs against him and keeps him warm while also burning him alive. He can see himself as a fire - a storm of electricity and heat clad in red and yellow. His skin raws and his suit heats up and everything is _so hot too hot._

_Faster._

His muscles are burning. They’re aching. They demand more and more fuel that he just can’t supply them. They complain and whine, and are forever sore. They yell at him to _stop, don’t go farther, you can’t go farther, stop. Stop. STOP._

_Faster._

He can’t breathe. He _can’t breathe._ The wind is blowing into his face, into his nose and mouth with such a pressure that he just can’t take a breath. The oxygen in his system depletes rapidly, and soon his lungs are demanding - _begging_ \- for something, _anything._ Things he can’t supply.

_He goes faster._

Then he skids to a stop.

His heart slows. His cells slow. His body slows.

He slows.

“Hey,” He says, not breathless at all. Not shaking at all.

Time still moves slowly, so he’s already had an eternity to recover.

“Sorry I’m late.” He finishes, with a smile fixed on his face.


End file.
